Ironhide and the Backyard of Doom
by icanhascamaro
Summary: Ironhide is roped into helping Sam's parents repair their destroyed backyard. Not especially serious. Tongue in cheek, anyone? Pre-RotF


**Warnings: **Mild Cybertronian cursing. Also, Sam has a potty mouth, but it's stress induced.

**Very Fast Author Rambling:** I've set this story in LA. I've been there, once, _way_ back in 1988 for two weeks. That being said, I'm crossing fingers that the setting and surrounding areas are fairly accurate but I'm using Google maps so...eh..._You know_. I could be right, could be wrong. Also, Bumblebee can talk. Ratchet is a fantastic medic and he can't understand why Bumblebee can't talk in the second movie, when he (and the Allspark) **_clearly_ **fixed Bumblebee's vocal processor after the ending of the first movie. Enjoy the ride, folks!

**Disclaimer:** All mechs are property of their owners/creators and are being borrowed to help create this work of fandom. I don't own Transformers (except for _quite_ a few _**action figure**_**s**) or Jack Sparrow.

Because if I did own Transformers, you can bet that Ironhide wouldn't have been killed off.

Like, _ever_.

:]

"_Close your eyes and pretend it's all a bad dream. That's how I get by."_

- **Jack Sparrow**

:P

"So one of your whozits will fix my backyard?"

The fierce brown optics of Sam's femme creator glared thirty-two feet up, utterly unafraid, at Optimus Prime.

The Prime vented a sigh at a level that was missed by human audio receptors and nodded. "Agreed. One of my mechs will help you in your backyard's recovery."

And so the decision was made. However, the mech who had the shoulders that this task fell upon was less than pleased. As in to say the phrase "less than pleased" would be akin to comparing the Grand Canyon to a small ditch, or the Titanic (pre-sinking) to a small rowboat.

"Optimus! _**No**_!" Ironhide growled out. "I'm the weapons specialist, not a fragging gardener!"

However, much to Ironhide's chagrin, his growls fell on suddenly deaf audio receivers.

XD

And so, one eon's old weapons specialist sat in front of the home of Ron and Judy Witwicky, every inch the picture of a very sullen Topkick. He was not so silently fuming, as his engine gave off angry, low rumblings every so often.

If he had ever intended to meet either Ronald or Judy Witwicky, and he would be the first to say just how much he preferred leaving _that_ sort of diplomatic slag to Optimus or Bumblebee, this would not have been the route he'd have taken.

What would he have done? Frag if he knew, which was why he was the _**weapons specialist**_, not a diplomat. Ask him about the rate of impact of a well placed pulse blast or how much damage a photon cannon could do. _That_ much he knew about and knew very well.

Interacting with the natives? _**Pffft**_.

A week before this Pit bound day, Samuel had taken William Lennox and Robert Epps to explain about the Cybertronians to Samuel's creators, Ron and Judy Witwicky. When the humans did this arduous task (sans aforementioned Cybertronians), they did it straight from the comfort of the Witwicky's own home. Optimus had decided that familiar surroundings might make the news easier to hear. As Will had done the very same thing when he introduced Ironhide to Sarah at the Lennox farm, the military man had wisely agreed with Optimus' decision.

From what Optimus had told Ironhide, the verbal explanations from Lennox and Epps had (at first) been received with less than favorable results. There had been denials, ranting, and even a bit of anger. Sam, their bouncing baby booty boy, had tried to keep a Big Secret from his parents. It amazed Ironhide that Samuel's creators were actually more upset that he had lied about where he'd been at and who he had been with. That he had been with Giant Alien Robots from Space! barely shocked them..at first. Later on, according to Lennox, there had been some sort of typical shocked human reaction. Regardless, Sam's punishment was to be grounded for a month (You can go to school and then get straight home, mister!), without any social interactions with friends (re: Miles and his horse, er, dog) or _with_ Mikaela.

To a human adolescent male such as Samuel, that was a Big Deal.

Then the time came time to _physically_ introduce themselves to Samuel's creators. It wasn't Optimus' idea, or even Lennox's idea. It had come right from the demands of Ron and Judy Witwicky. They wanted to see exactly what their bouncing baby booty boy was friends with.

Since Bumblebee wasn't the Camaro they had thought he was (though to be honest, robots from space that could turn into cars had been the most logical explanation for why Sam was no longer driving the piece of crap Camaro that had been driven off of Bobby Bolivia's used car lot), they wanted to know exactly _what_ their baby boy was driving around in. Three days, two hours, and ten minutes of Earth units of time after the three humans had told the other two humans about the existence of Cybertronians on their fair planet, Samuel's creators were introduced to said Cybertronians.

Introductions had taken place at the location Samuel and Mikaela called the Outlook (aka where Sam and Mikaela made out in or on Bumblebee). Prime and Ratchet, along with Ironhide, had waited for Bumblebee to drive up to the Outlook. Bumblebee had with him Samuel, Mikaela, and Samuel's creators. Despite knowing what they knew about Cybertronians, which really just scratched the surface, things hadn't gone overly well when Samuel's creators finally met the visitors from the stars in person.

To say that they had – as Samuel put it – freaked out, would be a slight understatement. Granted, things hadn't gone directly to the Pit when Ironhide had proudly displayed his cannons (complete with their signature brilliant blue glow from within and that warming up whine he loved so much), but apparently it didn't help the situation to show the humans his artillery. Samuel and Mikaela had taken introductions to his cannons much better than the older humans. Perhaps it had something to do with the older humans' age.

Even though Ratchet had been snarky with regards to how Ironhide showed off his cannons, the CMO wasn't one to talk. Especially not when he verbally suggested that Samuel's male creator's testosterone levels were at a level significantly lower than Samuel's.

The rest of the night was smoothed over thanks to Optimus' many millenia of political prowess. A few days later, Will had reassured Ironhide to the tenth degree that Sam's parents had eventually calmed down. However, the two humans were "understandably cautious" when they learned that the mech that was going to be sent to assist them in their outdoor renovation was twenty five feet of weapons happy Ironhide. Due to his repairs from the Mission City battle, Bumblebee was still keeping low and needed to take it easy. Optimus had been busy with monitoring for any replies to the message he'd sent into space, and Ratchet was busy.

To be honest, Ratchet didn't need an excuse. His status as cranky aft medic was _clearly_ enough to get out of any menial work, such as repairing the dent said aft had placed in the lawn after walking through power lines.

In turn, that left Ironhide as the only mech available.

Will was also unhappy with the arrangement, but mostly because he was stuck with either Optimus or Ratchet as transportation for the day, unless he wanted to drive his own vehicle (which had been sorely neglected by Will – not Sarah – since Will had teamed up with Ironhide). It wasn't that he had a ton of plans, but still and all, Will had his choice of a semi, a huge Hummer, or a non-sentient vehicle should anything come up. It was almost the opening to a bad joke.

The Witwicky adults were okay with being in the vicinity of an alien. A very large, very heavy, alien who could smoosh them by stepping on them if he so chose. Not only that, but they'd seen his cannons. Hadn't seen them in action, but apparently Hollywood had provided enough "scary aliens invade Earth!" movies that the two humans were easily imagining the fire power of said cannons.

Not that anything Hollywood could _ever_ produce would accurately begin to even come within a fraction of an inch to what Ironhide could do with any weapon.

He was the weapons specialist, after all. It was kind of what he did.

Even so, to Ironhide, _he_ was the one with the aliens. Two of them. Granted, he was on _their_ planet, but interacting with the natives wasn't what he wanted to be doing. That was definitely more Jazz's forte.

_Jazz…_ The mere thought of the saboteur snapped Ironhide out of his thoughts. His engine gave off a very deep, very throaty growl. The loss of the SIC was still extremely raw for all of the Autobots. And this was _Jazz_, the one mech that just about everyone (save for Megatron, obviously) liked and/or could get along with.

It wasn't as if Ironhide _hadn't_ experienced the loss of his comrades before, but it hurt like the Pit when there were so fragging few of them left after so many millennia of war.

Actually, the amount of time that had passed since he had first fired a weapon would stagger any human's processor. The amount of actual _**fighting**_ he had taken part in would crash a human's processor.

Ah, fighting. Fighting was what he was best at. Weapons, especially his cannons, were his specialty. He lived for fighting. Adapting newer, more powerful, weapons to his body made his spark sing.

And yet, for the first time in so many a millennia, the weapons specialist of the Autobot army found himself doing absolutely _**nothing**__._

There was no fighting, no blowing things up, no pounding of 'Cons into so much slag.

There was simply Ironhide, stealthily in his Earth alt mode, resting on four tires in an on street parking spot in front of the home of the human creators of the organic that killed both Megatron and the Allspark. Birds chirped as they fluttered from tree to tree. Wispy clouds, high above him in the California sky, floated lazily. A cricket chirped in the grass near his front left tire.

Ironhide felt his processor stutter a bit at the very thought of_ rest-that-was-not-recharg_e. Mainly because even in _recharge_, he was one click away from being battle ready; to being utterly aware and _not_ recharging.

But _**this**_…

_Frag it all. This is torturous beyond most of what I've experienced in my life_, Ironhide snarled inwardly. _I'm a mech made for war, not peace! I thrive on the battlefield, __**not**__ a slagging backyard!_

The very _thought_ of having to assist aliens in something as menial as gardening made his tanks churn. It wasn't fear or anxiety, no, this was pure disgust. On his best day, he'd be _blowing_ _**up**_ the fragging backyard, not restocking it with flowers or grass or whatever other organic plant life was required.

"I can't believe I'm following Optimus' orders on this," he muttered under his figurative breath. "I should just get the frag out of here. Even a stint in the brig for disobeying Prime's directive would be better than this."

He had just about talked his processor into agreeing with him (or was it vice versa?) when his scanners picked up movement coming from the direction of the Witwicky home. The front door was opening and both of Sam's creators were walking out of the house. The mech, Ron, closed and locked the door, while the femme, Judy, strode towards Ironhide with firm steps.

Despite her outward fierceness, Ironhide's scanners could pick up the fast rhythm of her spark, er, _heart_ beating along with an increase in stress hormones. Prior to his deployment to this mission, Ratchet had demanded that Ironhide be able to scan for basic health readings from Sam's creators, just to make sure that they weren't scared into an early offlining. Ironhide had also been given strict orders from Optimus that he not scare the humans as much as he could help it. He was there to _help_ the humans, not frighten them.

To anyone walking by, he was merely a pickup truck sitting in front of someone's home. Granted, he was a very _large_ pickup truck, but a pickup truck nonetheless. He had done nothing, and yet, the femme walking up to him was scared of him.

Ironhide thought back to the battle in Mission City, where he had – in his bipedal form – vaulted over an organic femme who had fallen on her aft in the middle of a street. Her face had been terror filled and her scream seemed to echo forever through the air.

That femme was outwardly as terrified as she must have been within, but Sam's femme creator was brave enough to outwardly project that she wasn't afraid. Ironhide could, begrudgingly, see where Sam got his bravery from. With a strong femme creator like this, it was easy to see how Sam could keep a clear processor while he ran for his life from Megatron. Even easier to see how he had used the Allspark to offline Megatron in a flat out disregard for Optimus' orders.

Bravery ran strongly in this family.

"Alright, mister, no foolishness from you," the femme muttered when she was standing next to the passenger's side of Ironhide's alt form. "Just because the neighbors aren't here, it doesn't give you a free pass to be a jerk."

The mech did a fast internet search on the slang the femme had used. There were many different definitions to the one word he hadn't been familiar with – jerk. He doubted that Judy Witwicky intended to say that he was yanking on something, so Ironhide deduced that the femme had not wanted him to be disrespectful to her.

Being a jerk to either Witwicky was not in the mission, and Ironhide would follow the mission.

"I will treat you as my superior has ordered me to," Ironhide replied congenially. "I will not be rude to you."

She seemed surprised by his reply. "Oh, well…well _good_!" A look over her shoulder as a muttered word from her mate brought out a deep sigh from the femme. "Ron, for Pete's sake, will you _stop_ fussing with the lawn and get over here?"

"Judy, the lawn can't take care of its self, okay?" Ron said with exasperation. "You have to baby it." He then glared at the Topkick. "And babying does _**not**_ include giant…" He seemed to realize his voice had been raised, because he looked around as he hissed out a very low, "…_giant alien robots_!"

"It's the back that's been stepped on by 'giant alien robots'," Judy swiped at the air with her fingers. "Not the front." She glared at no one in particular. "The _front _was ruined by stupid secret agents with no respect for our labor of love!"

"You mean Sam?" Ironhide interjected suddenly.

"What?" Ron stared at the black truck. "No, not Sam! The shrubs and…and the flowers. Where does _Sam_ come into all of this?"

"You were talking about a labor of love and…"

"Not _that_ kind! This is flowers, shrubs. Not my son…" Ron paused when Judy cleared her throat. "_Sorry_, sorry, _**our**_ son. What made you think I was talking about Sam?"

"I don't have a fragging clue." Ironhide made a note in a subprogram to _never ever again_ attempt to figure out what a human was talking about. It was simply a waste of processing power.

"Yeah, well, let's not worry about that," Ron stepped around to the driver's side. "Open up. We have to get to the store before they sell out of that sod again." A pause. "Judy? Where's the keys to this thing?"

_This thing_ growled out a thunderous sound.

"Ron!" Judy stepped around the front of the Topkick, since it was far too tall for her to glare over the hood at her husband. "Do not call him a thing! He's a living, breathing…"

"I do not need to breathe in order to live."

She blinked, but continued, "A living creature who has feelings! And if you piss him off and he abandons you out in the middle of nowhere, I will **not** help you get back home!"

Ironhide didn't have the spark to correct the femme. Those who pissed him off generally didn't live long enough to simply be abandoned in the middle of nowhere.

He would, however, quite happily transform the offending party into a giant smoking crater. After all, Cybertronians were _very_ good at transforming.

But for now he would put aside all of those tendencies in favor of not angering Optimus.

"You may do as Captain Lennox does," Ironhide explained to the two humans. "Simply walk up to me and I will open my doors for you. Do not worry about driving. I will do that."

"What about…"

"Inside," Ironhide stopped Ron from finishing his question. "_Now_."

The front doors swung open and Judy stepped back to the passenger's side. She looked up, which looked _way up_, and bit at her lower lip. "Oh my."

"Judy!" Ron called from the driver's side. "I can't remember exactly where I left my climbing gear, but I think it's in the garage."

"Ron, you don't _have_ climbing gear!"

"Then I think I know something else we need to buy."

The black mech vented a sigh. This was going to be a long fragging day.

n_n

Though he had heard plenty of stories from Bumblebee about the horrors of parking lots, Ironhide had never experienced such a place himself. He had never gone with Lennox to a parking lot in a shopping area. He now found himself 'parked' at a parking lot belonging to a home improvement store called "Lowe's" and though he had strongly persuaded the Witwicky pair to accept a spot on the far side of the parking lot, to which they wisely conceded upon, he had begun to grow fairly alarmed his situation.

He did his best to ignore the humans around him, keeping his sensors on low due to the sheer number of organics in the vicinity surrounding him at any given time, but it was difficult. He had heard about the threat of errant shopping carts. Lowe's had the additional threat of a strange sort of flatbed cart the humans used for transporting lumber, or large buckets, or any other large bulky object from the store to their vehicle.

There were any number of threats that came from the humans. Not just wayward carts. There was the occasional discarded beverage bottle or can on the ground, among with other trash, right along with human younglings that ran from their creators. The younglings did so while screaming and being incredibly disorderly. Then there were the keys. The threat from vehicle keys was not limited to an accidental scratching. No. There were some humans who would _intentionally_ drag a key across a vehicle's surface. Mostly those were humans upset with the owner of whichever vehicle was the chosen victim. Sometimes it was just due to the make and model of the vehicle.

Primus help any human who tried to key _him_. Not only would the key be utterly inefficient (For one thing, Cybertronian metal was far too strong to be damaged by ordinary earth metals, and also the paint wasn't actually paint; it was a highly scientific part of their armor to be whatever color they chose), but any attempt to deface Ironhide's body would result in a near instant offlining of the offending human.

Unfortunately, Optimus would be quite displeased if Ironhide chose _that_ course of action.

After a longer period of time than Ironhide was comfortable in spending in the Lowe's parking lot (and coming from such a long lived mech, that was saying something), his sensors once again picked up the familiar biorhythms that belonged to Samuel's creators.

_About slagging time_, Ironhide thought irritably. Then that irritation became annoyance when he scanned the items loaded on both a flatbed cart _and_ a regular shopping cart.

Bags of dirt, bags of shredded wood, bags of sand, bags of pebbles, bags of…of…

Ironhide's processor almost froze (like Prowl's was wont to do) when he realized exactly _**what**_ was in two of the bags. Bovine waste products? Were these humans insane? Granted the waste material held any number of nutrients for the plants and grass that the humans were planting and caretaking, but…_manure_?!

Judy followed Ron with a shopping cart loaded with flowers and what looked like some sort of decorations. "Be careful, Ron! Captain Lennox will be pissed if you scratch the truck." She paused. "I mean, um…"

The two humans were close enough that Ironhide could murmur out, "Truck will be fine, Judy Witwicky."

"Should you be, you know, _talking_?" Judy was looking around nervously.

"Should he be _talking_?" Ron exhaled noisily. "Judy, for Pete's sake! No one's looking!" He let go of the cart, which – due to the not so level surface of the parking lot – drifted slowly towards Ironhide's bumper, and the man turned around. With a raised voice, he called out. "Talking truck over here! Talking truck! We got a noisy one!"

Other than a young woman walking by, muttering "weirdo" under her breath, no one looked at the three.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. "See? No one cares."

The cart bumped, accidentally and ever so gently, against Ironhide's rear bumper. Given that the entire cart slid under Ironhide, because the mech's alt was so tall, only the handle of the cart actually hit the bumper.

Feeling a bit peeved at both Ron's behavior and for the man not watching the cart, Ironhide let his alarm begin to wail noisily. Being that he wasn't actually a truck, Ironhide didn't exactly _have_ an alarm, but the schematics for it came along with the alt form when he scanned the original Topkick.

"What the…?" Ron clapped his hands over his ears at the loud noise. "Shut that thing up, Judy!"

At _**that**_ word, Ironhide let his horn beep (which was really more of a semi-like blare of noise that Optimus' alt might make) every three seconds as well.

"Ron, you _know_ I don't have a key or a remote or anything!" Judy's hands were also over her ears, but instead of muttering curses, she turned to the mech and tried another tactic. "Please, Mister Ironhide, uh, sir, I'm _sorry! Please, _just_**stopthenoise**_!"

Because she said please, and also because she was stressed out again _and _people were starting to stare, Ironhide abruptly stopped the alarm and horn. The resulting silence was amusingly silent.

Ron stared at Ironhide with a dumbfounded look on his face. "Was that _really_ necessary?"

In reply, Ironhide let out a _breep-breep_ that was far more cheerful sounding than any human created vehicle alarm could create. Mere seconds ago, Ironhide had borrowed the sound from an amused Bumblebee's audio files.

Red faced, Judy reached up – way up – and tugged lightly on the rear door's handle. "Ron, I swear, I wish you could act your age just _once_. This is where Sam gets it from. You, not me."

The black mech rumbled softly in agreement.

"See?" Judy reached in the cart and pulled out a small red coated garden gnome. "Even Ironhide thinks it's funny." Looking into the cab of the truck, she frowned and sighed. "Well, mister, I'm not climbing up on these running boards every time I have to put something in…er…inside. Can you help out?"

Ironhide's scanners showed him a very distressed looking femme. The scanners also showed that Ron had tugged the cart out from under Ironhide's frame. In reply, he lowered his body a little closer to the ground, adjusting his height to something easier to accommodate the femme's reach. It wasn't a normal pickup truck's height, but it wasn't high as it had been before.

She still had to reach up a bit more than normal but it wasn't as bad. "Thank you, Ironhide," she said, as she placed a flat tray of flowers onto the rear bench seat. "I appreciate it."

"You are welcome," the mech said.

"It's more of a height I'm used to. Kind of," Judy said. "Before it was like putting something on an suv's roof."

"Can I get a little help here, too?" Ron said as he fiddled with the tailgate. "This dirt isn't gonna load itself."

A lot gentler than expected, the tailgate lowered itself.

Ron sighed again. "No help from the peanut gallery?"

Silence from Ironhide, though Judy giggled slightly as she continued loading flowers into the rear seat area.

"Fine," Ron rolled his eyes. "Maybe I can rig something with those huge smokestacks of yours."

Ironhide was not amused. "Try it and there's a round in my cannon with your name on it."

"C…c…cannon?" Ron stammered, instantly remembering the night of introductions. At the time, and also a bit because of Jazz's absence, Ironhide had shown off his cannons with a tad more aggression than he actually needed to.

Optimus hadn't been amused and Ratchet had threatened to weld his cannon to his aft.

Ironhide's aft. Not Ratchet's and definitely not Optimus'.

Ron pivoted on one foot. "I think I'll get one of those garden guys to help me out," he mumbled as he walked back to the store. "These bags aren't gonna get up there by themselves."

Seeing as Ironhide wasn't gifted with telekinesis, he was prone to agree with the human.

"That was not very nice," Judy murmured when she wheeled the cart to Ironhide's other side. Once again, she reached up and touched the door handle. He obliged by opening the other rear door and shutting the other door. "He means well, you know."

"Your mate?"

She didn't bother with a comedic reply. "He's uneasy with you guys. Can't really blame him, can you?"

Ironhide grunted.

"He's scared out of his mind," Judy said as she shoved a decorative planter onto the floor behind the front passenger's seat. "He's got a idiotic way of showing it. He hides it behind how he acts. Don't take it personally."

"I don't intend to."

"So you won't step on him or…or blast him?"

"Negative," Ironhide replied. "Though it is entertaining to see him squirm."

"Well don't go overboard," she shook her head, but smiled. "You've got a long road ahead of you. The yard's a mess. You and your friends really tore it up."

He realized that the femme was right. "My…" What was the appropriate thing to say at a time like this? The obvious, and least appetizing, thing to say, of course. "…apologies."

"Don't you worry about it," Judy finally placed the last of the cart's items into the cab. She closed the door and pushed the cart forward, between two sedans, and walked towards a cart return.

Ironhide watched her and contemplated his day thus far. Basically, as Samuel might say, it sucked. Not to mention he was partially loaded up with flowers, planters, and garden gnomes. And very shortly his bed would be carrying bags of dirt, bark chips, pebbles, and _manure_.

Time spent in the brig was sounding better and better.

o _ o;

The home improvement store wasn't overly far from the Witwicky home, but every mile back was humiliating. For every yellow sports car he passed, he half expected an amused ping from it. Not that Bumblebee _had_ a death wish, but he wouldn't put it past the youngling to try it, or for Samuel to instigate the yellow mech into doing so.

Every black and white vehicle he passed, he partially expected to see Barricade. Not that he could easily shed his cargo (human or plant based) to engage in battle, but he would not _not_ do such a thing. He had to keep the Witwicky's safe while they were in his care.

His navigation system informed him that the Witwicky home was on the approach and he disengaged the nav system.

"Can you pull around back, Mister Ironhide?" Judy leaned forward in her seat. "The neighbors aren't home, so it won't make too much of a difference if you weren't, you know, a truck."

He complied by driving around the block and down the back alley. Pulling up and into the rear parking area that was normally occupied by Bumblebee, Ironhide slowed to a stop and opened the doors for his passengers.

Ron got out first, sliding in an ungraceful manner to the ground, but landing on his feet. He walked around and held out a hand to his wife, who was sitting at the open passenger's side door. At this, Ironhide lowered himself as much as he could. It wasn't very low at all and Judy still ended up dropping a few feet to the ground, but she did so with a laugh as Ron spun her a bit.

Feet firmly on the ground, Judy looked up at Ironhide, shielding her eyes from the sun as she did. "Ron, just how are we gonna get the bags of dirt and stuff out now that we're home?"

"Sam."

"Sam?" Judy looked over at her husband. "Ron, he's out with his little buddy. Part of the deal was that he wasn't going to be here with his stodgy old parents."

"Well if he wants to keep that car of his, he's going to be with his stodgy old parents." The man sighed.

"Or at least he can help get these bags and then run and be free."

Ironhide almost growled out a bit at the "keep that car" bit that Ron had said, but restrained himself. No sense scaring the humans this early on. Not again, anyway.

"I guess so," Judy said dubiously. "I don't know if he'll answer his cell though."

Ron was already pulling a cell phone out of his pants pocket. "Judy, I'm telling you, my roof, my rules." He punched in a number. "He'll answer."

The mech in disguise could hear the ringing on the other end of the cell phone go to a voice mail system. _Not going to answer his own creators' call? Unacceptable._

"No answer?" Judy asked with a sweet tone.

In reply, Ron tried again, and again, and again.

Judy shifted her stance and sighed. "Ron, he's not going to pick up. He's a kid. You're his dad. It's not cool to answer your parent's phone calls." She tried not grinning at his frustration. "You remember being his age. No chance you'd answer the phone if your parents called."

"That is him and this is me, Judy. I probably…wouldn't have answered, but we didn't have cell phones back then, so your argument is a moot point."

Judy looked up at Ironhide. "Anything you could do?"

"While I dislike being your backup plan, I loathe holding on to these items any longer than I must."

Ironhide vented a sigh. "I will comm Bumblebee."

Judy blinked. "Huh?"

If he was in mech mode, and prone to such human displays of irritation, Ironhide would have rolled his optics. "Cybertronian communications."

"Ooookay."

_:Bumblebee, you slagger, where are you and Samuel?:_

There was a brief pause before said scout replied. _:The lookout point. Sam and Mikaela are…: _Another pause, with the scout saying, in an uncomfortable tone. _:…making out.:_

The weapons specialist counted off a few nanoklicks to even out his temper. _:Did Samuel hear his cell phone ringing?:_

_:…yes.:_

_:And he did not attempt to answer it.:_

_:Well, they were attempting more intimate forms of communication with each other instead of…:_

_:I don't fragging care. Get back here, __**now**__, or else you __**will**__ regret your next training session with me.:_

_:I shouldn't be driving too fast, you know. Ratchet will be slagging pissed at me if I strain my struts.:_

_:You mean, again?:_

A nervous chuckle_. :You heard about that, huh?:_

_:Just get your aft over here.:_

_:Right, got it. Uh, Bumblebee, ou…:_

_:And do not record anything when you arrive here, visual or audio.: _Ironhide paused. _:Any attempts at blackmail will result in extreme and long lasting pain.:_

_:…Affirmative. ETA ten minutes. Bumblebee, out.:_

Feeling secure in his threat, Ironhide replied in kind, _:Ironhide, out.:_

The entire conversation had lasted around one Earth minute of time. Ron had been about to redial Sam's cell number again when Ironhide spoke up.

"Samuel and Bumblebee will be here in approximately ten minutes."

Ron looked over at Ironhide. "How do you know that?"

"Because I just got done talking to Bumblebee."

"How did you…"

"Trade secret."

"But…"

"Cannon. Round." Ironhide said bluntly. "Your name on it."

Ron cautiously backed towards the house. "I'm just…thirsty…gonna get some water."

As the human dashed to the house, taking care to run _on_ his path despite the torn up mess that was the lawn, Judy sighed. "You're really mean sometimes."

"I see where Samuel gets his succinct manner of speech from."

Judy shook her head, but was smiling. "Mean. Utterly mean."

"I _do_ have a reputation to uphold."

: D

It was thirty seconds under ten minutes when Bumblebee pulled up in the alley behind the Witwicky home. His windows were down and Sam and Mikaela both had windblown hair and mixed expressions (somewhere between amusement and apprehension) on their faces.

"Whoa," Sam said as he stepped out of the driver's side of Bee's alt mode. "What's…what's all of that?!"

"That," Judy said, "is the Autobot way of making nice with the natives."

"They paid for all of that stuff?" Mikaela also go out. "How?"

"Actually N.E.S.T. did, or will," Judy explained to the girl. "We bought it, but they're paying us back for it."

Ironhide's engine revved angrily. "Enough chatting. Get these items off of me. Now."

_:You know you could've just transformed._: Bee commed Ironhide. _:That stuff would just slide off.:_

_:Where's the fun in that?:_

_:Your idea of fun and everyone else's idea of fun are not even __**remotely**__ close to being the same.:_

_:Your point being what, exactly?:_

Bumblebee vented a sigh, but stayed put.

"Mikaela, you want to help me get the flowers out?" Judy reached up for the rear passenger's door, which Ironhide opened.

"Yeah, sure," the teen sprinted over. "Here, let me climb up and I'll pass them down to you."

While she helped Judy, Sam wandered over to the lowered tailgate. He looked back at Bee, and the back at Ironhide. "You gonna help, Bee?"

"Nope, can't."

"What? Why not?" Sam spun around and stared at his guardian.

"I'm the lookout, Sam," Bee said patiently. "I'm looking out for, uh, for trouble."

"Troub…Bee, you're in your car mode, Ironhide's in his truck mode. _Where's _the trouble?"

"If I was not in my alt mode and I was helping you unload the bags from Ironhide's truck bed, there would be no one looking out for trouble. Correct?"

Sam stalked back to glare at the gleaming Camaro. "That's ridiculous!"

"Is it?"

"Yes!"

"I think you're mistaken, Sam."

"No, I think _I_ can look out for trouble, and _you_ can unload that stuff in Ironhide's bed in, like, a _**second**_."

"That's improbable, Sam, even for a Cybertronian." A slight pause. "And Ratchet doesn't want me shifting out of my alt too much. You know that."

"But you sped the whole freaking way here!" Sam stared at the Camaro with an irritated expression. "And I know how much he bitched at you for that the _last_ time he caught you speeding."

"This was different."

"How?" Sam glared at the sheepish looking Camaro. However Bumblebee did it, Sam didn't know, but this was one Camaro he swore could convey sheepish.

The argument could've gone on longer, but it was stopped by Judy.

The woman shook her head after she placed another flat of flowers behind the garage. "Sammie, in the time it took you to argue with Bumblebee, you could've been unloading that dirt."

Sam growled out in frustration. "In the time it took us to argue, _he_ could've transformed, unloaded that stuff, and transformed back. No one was in the alley! It was just us! We may as well own the alley, it's _that_ empty."

Silently, Judy pointed to the lowered tailgate.

Sam made a frustrated noise and looked up into the bed. "How am I supposed to get this stuff out of here? Maybe I can call Miles or…"

"Do not call **anyone**, Samuel."

"B…but _why_ not?"

"Sammie, just listen to Ironhide, okay?"

"But, mom, this is gonna take _forever_. Just let me call Miles, we'll get this done and over with and…" He paused as a panel in Ironhide's roof slid to the side. "What…what's going on up there?"

A smaller version of Ironhide's prized cannon emerged from the roof and the business end was aiming itself in Sam's direction. "Do not call anyone, Samuel."

Sam's mouth gaped. "The _**fuck**_ is _**that**_?!"

"Samuel James Witwicky!" Judy snapped. "Language! There are ladies present!"

Mikaela snickered as she jumped out of the rear passenger's area. Her arms were full with the garden gnome. "Yeah, Sam, ladies are present."

"Are you going to call your friend?" Ironhide asked in a deadly quiet voice.

"Uh….uuuhhh…"

The interior of the cannon began to glow a light blue.

"No! Nononononononono!" Sam scrabbled backwards, almost tripping over air. "_**Bumblebee**_!"

"Sorry, Sam, I'm watching out for trouble."

"Forget the alley!" Sam sprinted for safety around Bumblebee's far side. "There's trouble in the back yard, in _your_ parking space!"

_:Stop tormenting my charge,: _Bumblebee said with a slight internal smirk. _:He's had enough, I've had enough, and I think the flowers have had enough.:_

_:What if _**I**_ haven't had enough?:_

_:Do you __**really**__ want him complaining to Optimus?:_

Ironhide considered having to help the Witwicky's _and_ do a stint in the brig. _:Fine. But if word of this gets _

_back in any way, shape, or form from anyone other than Samuel, I know what bee to squash.:_

_:…yeah…:_

The mini-cannon powered down and slipped back into its hiding space. "No outside help."

Sam warily peeked over Bumblebee's rooftop. "R…right…"

[o_o]

It took a half an hour of complaining, griping, and whining from both Sam and his father, but eventually all of the material was unloaded from Ironhide's bed. Sam and Mikaela were shooed away by Judy, driven into the sunset (technically they were simply driven back from whence they came because it was just shy of noon) by Bumblebee, and peace and quiet descended upon the Witwicky backyard.

"Are you certain I cannot use my cannon?"

"Er, I'm very sure."

"You said your neighbors are not home," Ironhide, who was looming over Judy Witwicky in his mech form, pressed the issue of "speed v. Oh fragging Primus _**help me" **_with little success. "My cannon would be expedient to the problem."

"Expedient to what?" Ron growled out, fully exasperated. "A tunnel to China?"

"Ron!"

"Well, for Pete's sake, Judy! Look at that cannon!" Ron waved his hand in _That Cannon's_ direction. "It's nearly as big as my car."

"Cannon…"

Ron blanched a little but, to Ironhide's amusement, stood his ground. "I know! Cannon, round, my name on it, I _get_ it."

"Not yet," Ironhide rumbled.

Ron blanched a little more and gulped. "We don't need a tunnel to China!"

And Ironhide smiled.

On the inside.

=/

Twenty minutes later, Ironhide was not smiling. Not on the inside and not on the outside. As a matter of fact, he was fuming on the inside, which was reflected by a more brilliant glimmering of his optics on the outside.

Although digging the required trenches for the sprinkler system was as simple as tearing a few lines in the dirt with his hand, the aforementioned dirt and other organic material got into the nooks and crannies of his fingers with less than pleasant results. The dirt and pebbles caught in some of the finer gears made flexing his fingers an annoyance. He'd need to have Ratchet take apart some of the finer areas of his hand.

The thought of Ratchet performing hand surgery filled Ironhide with irritation. Not only would he be detained in the med bay for an indeterminate period of time, he'd have to hear said CMO complain about Ironhide not taking precautions.

And that was something that _no_ mech wanted to hear.

"Hey, Judy, he's pretty fast at digging," Ron's voice broke into Ironhide's inner growling. "You still want that in-ground swimming pool?"

:3

Ironhide retreated to the safety of his alt mode when the two humans went back inside their domicile to refuel. Or as they put it – to eat lunch. Having fueled up before leaving the base, he had no such requirements. Even though Judy had expressed some concern over the distance traveled to and from the home improvement store, Ironhide reassured her that he was certainly not an ordinary vehicle. She had been concerned that he would run out of gas. He attempted to explain the differences between Energon and gasoline, but swiftly confused the poor human.

She had been quite impressed when he told her he had a very long range when it came to traveling. Since she was a creature who measure distance in miles, he decided to take a bit of pity on her and _**not**_ explain what he knew of space travel.

Cybertron was, to use a human expression he'd discovered online, a bloody long way from Earth.

Still, while the minutes slowly ticked by, Ironhide decided that traveling through space might be a lot more interesting than waiting for the Witwicky's to finish their refueling.

A bird twittered as it hopped along a branch in the overgrown shrubs near the garage. Crickets were chirping madly without the two humans wreaking havoc.

Had Ironhide been in his bipedal form, and prone to such maudlin displays of irritation, one of his optics might be flickering much in the same manner as a human's eye twitching. The longer he waited for the humans to return to the backyard, the more he was drawn back in time to this morning when he waited on the humans the first time.

It was enough to make his processor want to shut down.

And it was also enough to make him want to explode out of his alt and into his true form and _blast the slag out of the __**entire garden**__!_

To reduce it to a smoldering heap of rubble that no one would want to resod or plant perky little petunias in.

And then Ironhide saw the cheerful yellow of a grouping of wildflowers Judy had planted near the garage. She had done so especially for Bumblebee. The black mech could clearly hear her voice in his processor in a memory recall.

"_The yellow shade reminds me so much of his paint! Isn't it amazing, Ron?"_

"_Yeah, yeah, great. Plant it in the window box planter, so he can have something pretty to stare at when he's in __**my**__ garage."_

"_Oh, Ron, put a sock in it!"_

Ironhide halted the recall and snorted to himself. His rage at the garden was effectively quenched by that simple little scene that had played out earlier. Even though it went against his own feelings of the situation, Ironhide decided to not take out his frustrations on the backyard.

Even so…

He stared at the post that Judy had asked Ironhide to jam into the dirt. It would eventually hold an elevated dog house for their chihuahua.

Ironhide **hated** that dog.

The sound of a vehicle approaching had Ironhide activate all possible scanners, while also checking to see that his spark signature dampening protocols were still active. They were, but as the nose of the vehicle slowly rolled into view, Ironhide almost instantly transformed. He stayed put, as immobile as any vehicle parked on a parking pad, but every system was at the ready.

A black bumper rolled into sight, slowly, and Ironhide tensed even more when he saw that it was a Mustang.

He was about to transform even as he realized that the black was continuing along the body of the muscle car. It was nothing for a Cybertronian to change the color of the nanites in the armor. He didn't even relax when the driver came into view. A blonde woman around Mikaela's age was behind the wheel.

For a second, blue human optics flicked over in his direction, and then turned away as the Mustang continued down the alley.

Ironhide remained on alert long after the throaty sound of the powerful engine faded away. While he hadn't sensed Barricade's spark signature, the mech wasn't a Decepticon for nothing. Those slaggers knew every trick in the book. Like changing the look of a holoform. A holoform was not a representation of the mech it belonged to. The holoform could look like anyone or anything.

But when ten, twenty, thirty minutes passed and nothing happened, Ironhide began to set his defensive protocols on a lower level of alertness. They were still there, running in the background, always alert, but they were not in the foreground as they had been so shortly ago.

And if it _was_ Barricade? It would be a fun challenge to keep the fragging collateral damage to a minimum.

: |

"Okay, this looks great!" Judy said as she stepped back to admire the backyard. She stood with her back to the garage and grinned at the freshly unrolled sod that replaced the torn up grass that had been there before.

"Femme…Judy…What do you wish for me to do _here_?"

Judy, who hadn't noticed where Ironhide was going (and how did _that_ happen?!), darted over to where the large mech was standing. He had carefully avoided the recently replaced power lines and was pointing one massive hand towards an untouched area that was located to the right side of the house.

It was with a soft sigh that she looked over the area. Everything was in its place. Not even the rude government jerks had bothered this place. For that, she was glad.

The area in question was located in a peaceful area next to the house. It was fenced off from the front yard because Judy had wanted it to be secure. Maybe that had saved it from those morons who stomped on her roses!

A slightly impatient sounding venting of air, and the hot gust of wind that brushed the top of her head, interrupted Judy from her thoughts (which had been turning from somber to angry). She tilted her head back, noting how tall Ironhide was compared to her house, and blinked at him.

He stared down at her with softly glowing blue eyes. She knew the aliens had a proper robot term for their eyes, but the word escaped her. Ironhide was staring down at her as if she was supposed to say something Incredibly Important.

"Yes?"

Another huff of air and an odd flickering of his eye lights gave her impression that he was annoyed. "Do you want anything done here?"

"Not a thing."

"Why not?"

Judy looked over at the red roses and smiled. "Everything here is perfect."

Ironhide stared down at the roses and decorative rocks. He was scowling. "What is this?"

"What do you mean?"

"These are not like your other flowers," the tall mech rumbled. "These are more carefully arranged around several carved stones."

"Yes, they are," Judy smiled at the stones fondly.

There was a slight lull of silence, broken only by a few bravely chirping birds.

The silence didn't last.

"_What_ is the purpose?" Ironhide almost bellowed out the question, but being that he was in squishy territory he had to refrain and utter a disgruntled snap.

"It's a memory garden."

"It's a what?" Ironhide was visibly confused, so much to the point where Judy couldn't help letting out an amused chuckle.

"A memory garden."

"Come again?"

"It memorializes important people in our lives that are no longer with us."

Ironhide's eyes flickered. "What is the purpose?"

"To honor the memory of loved ones who have died," Judy felt like she did when she had to explain things to Sam when he was in his why stage.

"Do they know this?"

"No."

If anything, Ironhide looked more baffled. "What is the point, Judy Witwicky?"

"To be honest, Ironhide, it gives those who are still living comfort. It gives us something tangible to hold on to." The woman chuckled softly. "You have no idea how many goldfish are buried here. Sam wouldn't let us hold a burial at sea, so that's pretty much how this little memory garden came to be."

"Burial at sea?" The mech cocked his head quizzically.

"Human slang," Judy explained with a slight smile. "It means flushing the dead fish down the toilet."

"Why did you choose to bury a dead fish?"

"He was only five when the first fish died. There was also a small assortment of gerbils and beta fish," Judy shrugged. "It made him feel better about it."

"It does not benefit the ones who have offlined?"

Judy shook her head. "Not at all."

"Humans are very strange."

She was anything but insulted, though the words could so easily be misconstrued as an insult. "Trust me, there are far weirder things we humans have done."

"Like wh…"

"I'm not going to explain any further. When you get back to the base, you can google it."

"I do not think I wish to," Ironhide said a low voice. "I believe I have been scared for life, as Samuel might say, too many times already in the short amount of time I have been here."

There was a brief lull in their conversation. Judy looked up at Ironhide. "Do your kind have cemeteries?"

He looked startled. "Before the war, there were options for those who did not wish for their…" And here he made a staticky sound. "We do not have an English translation. Someone extremely special. Things could be done for the shell after deactivation."

"And after the war?"

Those glowing blue eyes blazed a bit brighter. "We did not have that luxury anymore. There became too few peaceful times to do anything more with our dead than to…" Ironhide broke off and shook his head. "This is not a tale for me to tell you, Judy Witwicky. I am not the mech to explain this." He looked back at her. "Optimus is far better at this slag than I am."

Judy chuckled weakly. "Yes, I may do that."

It was then that Ron came out of the house and decided that the gutters needed cleaning right about then. Despite another lofty sigh from Ironhide, the mech complied and – after almost pulling a gutter off – began to carefully empty out the gutters. Judy wasn't too sure of this chore, seeing as how Ironhide couldn't very well go and take care of the gutters in the front. As it was, he would have to be very cautious when he was cleaning the gutters to the sides of the house.

The woman went inside at that moment and reflected on her conversation with Ironhide as she got a glass of cold water. She had a feeling, and call it mother's intuition, that he purposely messed up on the translation. He didn't want to continue the conversation and had stopped telling her something important to him. She knew that their war had been going on for what added up to being thousands of years long, and knew that Ironhide, Optimus, Ratchet and many others had fought that war since it had begun. That they had been alive for a long time before that war started (which was a fact that still boggled her mind when she tried to wrap her thoughts on just how long that ended up being).

While they were not organic (as they so fondly deemed the humans), they were alive, with lives and loves and hates all of their own as much as any human being. And she knew that, being the large metallic creatures they were, that it was more than likely cannibalization, and not burial, that was the end result for bodies during and after the war.

Actually, from what she had learned, the war was still going on. _All this time_, she mused as she drank her water. _All this time and they're __**still**__ fighting_.

Plus they hadn't been on Earth for more than twelve hours and they had lost one of their own. Optimus

had shown them video of Jazz, and Judy was fairly certain she would have loved talking with him. Jazz looked like he had been a very fun mech.

"Judy!" Ron somewhat stumbled into the kitchen. "He's done. You got anything else you need taken care of?"

Judy started a bit at her husband's sudden entrance and she looked at the digital clock on the microwave.

It was only 3:56. She thought back on today and smiled. "No, Ron," she shook her head. "I've got nothing. You?"

He made a frustrated little groan. "No, but I really wish I did! This has been great. We should let them trample the garden more ofte…" Ron broke off at the glare from his wife. "Uh, I mean, no, I'm done."

"That's kind of what I thought," she put the used glass in the sink. "I'll go tell him he can leave."

"Yeah, great, ah, I'll just follow you."

"That's what makes you the man, Ronnie."

"You better believe it, Toots!"

She paused at the door to glare at him. "Stop while you're ahead."

"Okay, okay!" He raised his hands in defense. "This is me stopping."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I _swear_, Ron…"

|}

_4pm pst_

_Witwicky Residence_

Ironhide couldn't be any happier than the moment when the two Witwicky's said he was free to go. While he would've been even happier to peal out of the parking spot and lay down an inch of rubber in the alley, that would have been beneath the dignity of a warrior of his age, prowess, and standing within the Autobot army.

"Thank you," was what he finally mustered up. "I hope that my services have been what you required."

"They have," Judy said with a smile. "Thank you, Ironhide." When silence came from her side, Judy looked over at Ron with a frown. "Ron!" she said at the same time as elbowing him in his side.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron rubbed at his now sore side. "Ouch, thank you very much, Judy, and, Ironhide. You, too."

Ironhide vented a long suffering sigh and transformed into his alt. With a quiet rumble of his engine, he eased into the alley and was finally on his way to freedom.

At the end of the alley, he nearly came nose to nose with a golden Camaro, which had the uncanny ability to look sheepish.

_:Sorry, Ironhide,: _Bumblebee commed him, even as Sam leaned out of the driver's side window with a "sorry!" of his own.

Still mere inches from the Camaro's bumper, Ironhide commed him back. _:Just back the frag up so I can finally leave.:_

_:Backing up!: _Bumblebee cautiously backed back onto the street, which, fortunately for his bumper, was empty. _:See you back at base.:_

_:You're not staying with Samuel?:_

_:Ratchet wants me to go back to the base overnight and return here in the morning. Sam already knows.: _There was a vented sigh of utter patience_. :He said I wore out the weld he'd put in last week on my right strut and...:_

_:Fine, I don't really give a frag.: _Ironhide paused. _:Just remember, no video of what happened earlier.:_

_:I'd rather not risk my spark by sharing this with __**anyone**__.:_

Ironhide felt smug. It was good to have the big guns. _:Excellent.:_

He was well aware of the Camaro still pointed down the street, watching him as he drove away. Ironhide's sensors noted Bumblebee driving down the alley as the black mech drove out of sight of the Witwicky home.

**_Finally!_**

_It wasn't exactly as horrible an experience as I thought it was going to be, _he thought to himself as he pulled onto the Santa Monica freeway. _One I'd never slagging want to do again, and one I'd never admit to, that's for fragging sure. _

Except now he was looking at a two hour drive back to base. Whoever thought that base was a great place to hide out was a few bolts short of a full set.

XD

_Two hours later..._

Yes, the return back to base was just about as fragged up as he expected it to be. Teasing words from Lennox? Check.

A wrench to the helm from Ratchet because Ironhide had grit and rocks stuck in his hand? Double check.

Quiet approval from Optimus? That was a definite.

And yet, as he stalked his way back to his quarters, he found himself feeling unexpectedly satisfied.

He'd be Pit bound if he would admit that to _anyone,_ but a part of his spark felt_…good_ about what he'd done today.

The side of his helm decided to utter a twinge of protest, but he ignored it. No one ever claimed Ratchet had _any_ bedside manner, much less a good one. The medic had verbally torn him to pieces as he pulled apart Ironhide's fingers in order to dig out the rocks, dirt, and grit. There had been very little concern on Ratchet's part for whether or not his manner of extracting said material was painful or not (it was _excruciating_, thank you very much), and Ironhide bore through the process in silence. He had, of course, experienced far worse.

Still and all, it hurt like the Pit!

Ironhide slid the door shut behind him and stared almost blankly at his berth. It was early, just turning eleven at night, but he decided he would need a long recharge. Menial labor wasn't taxing to his systems, but in peaceful times like this, it was usually a good option to defrag one's systems.

That and Ratchet had pretty much demanded he do so or risk being reformatted into a Fiat.

A half an hour later and he was still sorting through and storing the day's activities. Trimming hedges, rolling out sod, and pruning trees was not the sort of thing he ever thought he would be doing. Yet that was _exactly_ what he had done.

He sent a data pack to Bumblebee, with detailed video of the mystery Mustang. When he got an affirmative reply from the scout, who said he would keep a lookout, Ironhide resumed his defragging.

It wasn't until he mentally got to Judy's memory garden that he paused.

Something about that part of the yard tugged at his spark. Something about the act of dedication Judy Witwicky had for the garden, that she actively tended to said garden and the memory of those she was remembering, really called to Ironhide.

_:Optimus,: _he commed his Prime. _:There is something I need to ask of you.:_

_:What is it, old friend?:_

=D

The next morning, Ironhide ironically found himself once again in front of the Witwicky home. While he sat there, he had comm called the household and got a wary Judy Witwicky on the other end. At first, she hadn't believed him, but he quickly got her attention with a couple of sharp – yet soft – blasts of his horn.

The femme walked out of her house, clad in what Ironhide knew from Sarah Lennox to be a bathrobe.

One hand held a long shiny stick, which he knew from Samuel to be his femme creator's favorite weapon. An aluminum bat. To Ironhide, it wasn't the best choice in weaponry. The range a bat had was nil. Then again, she sort of looked like a close combat opponent.

"Ironhide?" Judy walked up to him, with the bat held loosely at her side. "Why are you here?"

Having already lowered his form to a height that would be easier for her to climb, Ironhide opened the passenger's side door. "Get in."

She glared at him. "I don't know if your people have manners up on Cybertron, but here on Earth, we do."

"We do," Ironhide said in a low voice.

"Well then," Judy crossed her forearms over her chest. The bat was still clenched in one hand.

He cautiously held back a growl of frustration, and instead bit out a curt, "_**Please**_, get in."

She sighed but nodded. Placing the bat on the floor of the passenger's side, she carefully climbed her way up and in. The door shut and she sat back in her seat. "What's going on? Is there danger from the Decepticlods?"

Ironhide snorted out a laugh. "No, they're still off planet, and they'll stay off if they know what's good for them."

"Then what's with the six am wake up call?"

He didn't answer, because he didn't know exactly what to say. Instead, he pulled out of the parking spot and turned the corner to go down the back alley. "Are your neighbors back yet?"

"No, but…I don't understand."

They could both see that the garage door was open and Bumblebee was inside in his alt mode.

_:Stay where you are, slagger. Judy Witwicky and I have something to take care of.:_

_:I know,: _Bumblebee replied in an alert tone. _:I've been waiting for you to show up. Optimus told me what you were going to be doing.:_

He pulled onto the cement parking pad. _:Who the frag else has that blabbermouth told?:_

_:Just me, I promise!:_

_:It better be.: _Ironhide opened the passenger door for Judy Witwicky. "Please get out, Judy. There's something I brought with me."

Confused, Judy slid out and down. "Did we leave something on you? It _is_ possible that Mikaela or I forgot one of those garden gnomes."

Ironhide transformed and frowned. "Garden gnome? No! I meant that I have something for…" He broke off with a vented sigh. "Slag it all to the Pit."

"Like a fire pit?" Judy looked pensive. "I think Ron might like one of those."

"No, _**not**_ a fire pit," Ironhide pulled an object from his subspace. It was small, wrapped in a soft cloth, and delicate. To him, anyway. To a human? Not that delicate. "Take this."

Judy blinked in confusion, but reached up for the cloth wrapped item. "What is this?"

"Open it."

She looked at him warily. "What?"

"Just do it…uh, please." Ironhide heard a slight snicker from the Camaro and glared down at the yellow scout. "Remember that I _know where you train_."

The laughter ceased immediately. "Sorry!"

Ironhide would've made a comment, but a gasp from Judy got his attention. Even from twenty five feet in the air, it was easy to make out what the item was in Judy's hands. The cloth was discarded onto the parking pad.

"Is this…" Judy gaped. "Is this from Jazz?"

That got Bumblebee's attention and the Camaro rolled out of the driveway and transformed. Luckily, the backyard was more than able to handle two mechs. Unfortunately, Bumblebee was standing on the grass.

"Not a smart thing to do, Bumblebee," Judy smiled up at the yellow mech, who then attempted to stay off of the grass.

Bumblebee ended up standing slightly behind Ironhide. "Optimus didn't tell me you had that."

"I asked him not to." He stared down at Judy Witwicky. "Do _**you**_ know what I'm asking of you?"

"Well, I'm kind of at a loss there," she looked sheepish.

"Your garden," Ironhide said.

"My what?"

Starting to feel foolish, Ironhide growled out, "Your memory garden. Primus, femme, I see where Samuel gets his attention span."

"Hey!" Judy glared up at the black mech. "Watch it, mister! I _get_ where you want this to go! I just didn't know why you wanted it here. Isn't this important to you? Why would you want it here, where it's not secure?"

"Jazz would've wanted it here," Bumblebee said softly. "That's the kind of mech he is…was."

"Why didn't you tell the others?" Judy ventured. "Surely they would like to know what you were doing

with…with this."

"Tell _who_ else?" Ironhide's voice was a dark rumble. "Ratchet?"

"Like maybe the human soldiers you all fought with. Even _Sam_ might like to know."

Ironhide made a non-committal sound.

"Don't you want everyone to know about this?" Judy tried very hard to get him to own the moment. "That you were the one that brought it here?"

"No," Ironhide said simply. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Oh for Pete's sake!" Judy said with much exasperation. "You manly men types! You can afford to be seen with emotions every now and then. I think your cannons more than make up for it."

"They do, but that's not the point," Ironhide said with a smidge of annoyance in his voice. "Can you just accept this or not? Slagging emotional femme."

"I can accept this," Judy said. "I just wish you would, too."

Ironhide was silent at that, and so Judy walked towards the memory garden. After a few seconds, he and Bumblebee followed the femme with careful steps over the grass.

"I should've put some fragging walking stones on the lawn for us," Ironhide muttered.

"That would've been nice," Bumblebee agreed. "Maybe we can talk Ron into it."

"Shut up, Bumblebee."

"What! I was just agreeing with you!"

"Boys!" Judy clapped her hands together once. "It's done!"

The two mechs got closer and saw that, indeed, the item was in the center of the memory garden, surrounded by red roses.

"Maybe you should get some blue roses," Ironhide said bluntly. "I'm just saying, red isn't a great color."

"Yes, I know, Ironhide," Judy said with amusement. "Red sucks."

"It does," Ironhide rumbled and nodded. "Still and all, it looks very…nice."

Bumblebee agreed with the taller mech. "Jazz would have liked this."

"He would've liked staying in one piece," Ironhide muttered.

"There's always that," Bumblebee said with a little wince.

"It'll be safe and sound," Judy said confidently. "I'll make sure nothing happens to it."

And with that, the two mechs retreated back across the grass to the concrete. Bumblebee transformed back into his alt and backed into the garage.

"Goodbye, Judy Witwicky," Ironhide said to the human. "Thank you for watching over this."

The woman looked over at him with a smile. "You're welcome, Ironhide."

Ironhide stared at Judy for a moment before also transforming into his alt and leaving. He had a long drive back to base. One that almost made him regret coming all this way. Then he gave a half hearted chuckle (an internal chuckle because it wouldn't do to have Bumblebee thinking Ironhide was getting soft sparked). Traveling through space as long as he had, and suddenly a two hour drive from a base was long?

The mech snorted and pulled into traffic. At least there weren't as many vehicles on the freeway this early on a weekend.

Shortly after that thought, a Honda sedan, driven by a human, cut him off and drove slowly in directly in front of him. It took all he had to resist rolling right over them. Pinned in by another slower moving vehicle on each side, Ironhide bellowed out a completely ineffective, "Move, you fraggers!"

Unfortunately, there were no spark signatures or sigils of any kind announcing his annoyances might be 'Cons, and poor Ironhide was stuck for a whole ten minutes before getting an opening. It wasn't until after he blasted past the sedan that he realized he hadn't had his holoform activated. Thanks to his scanners, he could easily see the human in the car.

The shocked look on the human's face would be well worth any brig time.

0.0

Back at the memory garden, Judy sighed and brushed away a stray tear. She would've loved to have personally known Jazz.

Crouching down, she wiped at the chrome piece with the cloth, which she had retrieved from the parking pad. "I promise, Jazz. I'll take good care of this."

Morning sunlight shone down on the chrome, dappling the area as it was wont to do when streaming through leafy trees. The word Solstice sparkled up at her, reflecting the sunlight. Though it was absurd to think this, Judy almost though it felt…happy.

"I'm such a sap!" Judy dabbed at her eyes with the cloth. "Look at me! All a mess over this car part." Still, she smiled down at the car part. The only part of _**Jazz, **_a fifteen foot tall million or so years old silver mech that she would never meet in person. "You will _always_ be remembered."

And that was enough.

:

**A/Ns:**

-There actually is a Lowe's hardware store close to the actual house that starred as the Witwicky home in LA. Huzzah for Google maps.

-From what I saw on Google maps, the Witwicky home doesn't have a front driveway. Neighboring homes do, but not this house. Also they put in a pool in the backyard. Looks nice. I can't remember if they had a front driveway in the movie. I don't think they did though.

-The _breep-breep_ sound file Ironhide borrows from Bumblebee is the _same one_ that 'Bee used in Bobby Bolivia's used car lot.

-Collateral Damage – aka two of Optimus' favorite words to Ironhide in the Dark of the Moon game I play on my PS3. _Keep the collateral damage down, Ironhide; Ironhide! Collateral Damage!_ On and on about the collateral damage. Makes you want to turn off the comm. You can't, but hey, wouldn't that be nice?

-I have no idea about the base. Nothing really makes a ton of sense, soooooo...I set it at Edwards AFB, which is about two hours forty five minutes away from the Witwicky home.

-The item is the word Solstice from the rear bumper of Jazz's alt form.

-Sam isn't a bad luck pet owner. He hasn't had quite as many pets as the memory garden might make you think.

-Judy is guessing at Jazz's age. So am I.

-Was that Barricade? I dunno, was it? ; )


End file.
